


My Anchor In The Dark

by Chiyume, withinmelove



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Emissary Stiles Stilinski, Familiars, Gen, Good Peter Hale, M/M, Spark Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Stilinski is Part of the Pack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-24
Updated: 2019-01-24
Packaged: 2019-10-15 12:28:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17528729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chiyume/pseuds/Chiyume, https://archiveofourown.org/users/withinmelove/pseuds/withinmelove
Summary: The tale of how Stiles finds out he's the emissary not only for the Pack but Beacon Hills at large. Also that Peter's been hiding an enormous secret from him for years.





	My Anchor In The Dark

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rubyredhoodling](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rubyredhoodling/gifts).



> This is a pinch hit for rubyredhoodling for the Steter Secret Santa 2018. My sincerest apologies for the month long wait! lol you got picked up by the writer who has a short attention span for focusing on any fic for any length of time. However, I'm delighted to now present your very delayed gift! I really hope you enjoy it :)
> 
> Comments and critiques both are welcome! The feedback is appreciated in return for my time and effort in writing.

Stiles is six years down the road after finding out that not only does he have a spark, but he’s an emissary too. Really just a fancy name for a Druid, aka a witch or wizard that helps werewolves not go completely feral. Reminds them that _hey, you’ve still got human in you, so don’t slaughter everyone_ kind of thing. After high school, Stiles took to roaming the US, exploring new sights, supernatural creatures and experiences.

It was while he was in Iowa that he came across his first group of very friendly witches. Covens, no surprise, tend to be close-knit and wary of strangers. Not only to protect themselves from the humans that would kill them, but from other supernatural creatures with murderous intent. Disputes over territory with werewolves, hunting grounds for those creatures that prey on humans, or most of all the fight for a Nemeton; a bastion of power for any magic worker, Druids in particular. Stiles prefers the whimsy of calling himself a witch. Sad to say that Hogwarts is fictional even though the monsters in there are closer than most realize. 

Like any magic worker, Stiles was drawn to the Nemeton in the area. A big surprise, it wasn’t in a cornfield. No, rather it was located in one of the biggest college towns in the state, namely at the school’s student center, which is open to anyone 24/7. The coven sensed his presence near their sacred space and came flocking at once. Stiles was prepared for a fight, because in Beacon Hills, there was rarely any other alternative. But this coven greeted him politely, interested in why he was wandering on his own, and because he exuded the power-infused aura of a Nogitsune. 

Actually, it was the Nogitsune that had caused Stiles’ spark to burst into full flame. The needed tinder for the residual magic the spirit left behind. After high school, Stiles had wanted to see and meet more supernatural beings than the bad guys who showed up to terrorize the town. Besides, the pack didn’t need a witch to tether them. Scott, Boyd, Erica, and Isaac were all humans before being bitten. Allison is fully human and a badass. That only leaves Derek and Peter as the true-born werewolves, so there’s enough humanity to go around among them. 

Besides, his going away wasn’t just for the hell of it. Peter was part of the reason. When Stiles had rejected the bite from Peter with “I don’t wanna be like you,” he’d been telling a half-truth. Peter had picked up the lie in that sentence, but not the rest of Stiles’ meaning. He didn’t want to be a werewolf, subservient to the one who had bitten him, whether that was Peter or not. Now he’s powerful enough on his own to no longer be shunted aside when things were deemed too dangerous for a human to handle.

Back to the Iowa witches: they’re perfectly friendly as he gets to know them. What sticks in his craw is the fact that through his travels, he’s constantly asked about not having a familiar. It’s the same routine with this new group.

“You’ve no familiar, Stiles?” the old man of the coven asks, squinting as if to see better about the fact. Stiles nods. It wasn’t until he took to wandering that it became apparent how odd the lack was to others.

“Nope. Never thought it was important, and I didn’t need one in Beacon Hills,” he shrugs. “But I’ve been thinking about finding a familiar since I started wandering. If it’ll help my magic. Do you guys all have one?” At once, the witches nod, happily regaling him with stories of how they came to have their particular familiar, the forms they preferred to take on, and their nicknames. 

“Think of getting one! They’re like wilder pets, but they still help out,” a young woman jokes as Stiles gets ready to go. He snorts. Well, if that’s the case, then he should just go back to the Pack. They’re wild, like pets in needing to be looked after, and they do help keep baddies out of Beacon Hills. Besides, after two years of roaming, Stiles misses home desperately. At first, he’d been glad for his freedom from high school, from the stress of the Pack, and his unresolved feelings for Peter. 

Truth be told, Peter had been on his mind since he left town. Stiles had been attracted to him since he turned sixteen. There’s this magnetism to Peter that he could never stay away from. At first, revulsion and horror at the killings Peter easily committed had had Stiles trying to crush his attraction. Over time, that had changed, as Stiles himself had changed. If there’s anything the Pack has taught him, it’s that survival isn’t about sparing those who would attempt to murder you again if given the chance. Tear out their throats and force down the taste of blood. Try not to develop too obvious a love for it.

Besides, Stiles misses his dad a lot. During his wandering, he’d stayed away from Beacon Hills and all the memories it held. Dad had understood, and they video-called often, texted almost every day, and Stiles sent postcards from each new state he went to.

It’s time to go home now. For Dad and for himself. If he’s honest with himself, his magic has been strongest when he’s in Beacon Hills. He’d just hoped that the same thing would happen somewhere else too. There’s no more running from the fact he wants to return for Dad, for his magic, and for Peter, if the latter is still there. 

\--

Returning to Beacon Hills is an odd comfort. The town has changed a bit, expanded with some new stores and a few more blocks of houses, but otherwise it’s humming along with day-to-day life. It startles Stiles to see Dad has more age lines than he recalls. What’s even more so is Mrs. McCall putzing around his house. It was in the first year of him being gone that Dad had gently revealed he and Scott’s mom were tentatively dating. At sixteen, Stiles would have been weirded out, especially as Scott’s dad still came around on occasion to try and win his son and ex-wife back. 

But he’s managed to mature since he was a teenager and realizes who better to love and support Dad than Mrs. McCall? Well, Melissa now, no need to be so formal, but the habit is hard to break. 

“Stiles! You’re back! You didn’t text me you were in the driveway,” Dad playfully accuses, opening his arms for a hug. A laugh bubbles from Stiles as he bearhugs him. The familiar sight and scent of his home (the Nogitsune sharpened his sense just a touch above normal) are a wonderful balm. 

“Next time, I’ll text you when I’m in my room,” Stiles jokes, pulling back from the hug to see Mrs. McCall - _Melissa now_ \- peeking around the corner from the kitchen. She wears a half smile, happy to see their joyful reunion, not wanting to intrude on a dad and son moment. He can see why Dad fell for her when they gained time to breathe from their rambunctious sons and their antics (supernatural or otherwise). Maybe they even took a little time away from work, although he won’t bet on that. 

“Hi Melissa, come give me a hug! I gotta show Dad that I love my new stepmom.” This earns him an embarrassed exclamation of “Stiles!” from Dad, even as Melissa laughs and hugs him too. 

“Well, I don’t know about stepmom, but it’s good to have you home, Stiles. We’ve both missed you.” Stiles wants to hug them both as tight as he can. He’s been homesick and they know just what to say to cheer him. 

\--

After the first two days of him being home, Stiles is glad that Dad and Melissa have settled back into their routines. No more fussing over him or offering to go out for dinner or if there’s anything new Stiles would like. He doesn’t need presents to be bought (although he very much appreciates them) or to be cooed over like a lost child. It’s enough just to be up in his room or lounging in the living room and to hear Dad or Melissa moving about the house. 

Besides, it’s time to meet the Pack again. Even Scott stayed away in his first few days back, though his mom has been at Stiles’ house for two of the three. Stiles hopes it’s more from Scott giving him time to settle back in than an indication of growing apart. 

From first sight, it’s clear that the Pack has grown in strength. Scars Stiles doesn’t remember seeing on them two years ago are obvious. But Peter...he looks the same, maybe a bit leaner, but still handsome. Still that mischievous glint in his eye. And there’s no doubt that the magic within Stiles has started to burn brighter now that he’s among the werewolves. It’s the easiest it’s ever been for him to call upon his reserves with little effort to cast the spells he wants. 

Maybe it’s the Nogitsune sensing he’s home again? 

“Wow, you met witches and they didn’t keep you? A shame,” Erica snarks, grinning at Boyd at Stiles’ retelling of his travel tales and the supernatural beings he’s run into.

Before Stiles can reply to that, Peter is cutting in, sweetly sharp. “Erica, dear, you’re thinking of fairies. They’re the ones to steal humans, and you’d know that if you paid more attention to supernatural lore like Stiles here. Witches tend to prefer transformations, and certainly your pretty little mouth would be the first to be changed to silent.” 

The whole group of them blink in shock at those words. Damn. Peter is a smartass, but he’s never quite had that much vitriol in his tone when sassing them. Maybe he’s feeling irritable, because he’s not defended Stiles so viciously before. Or actually at all, for that matter. Odd why he chose to now. 

Peter rolls his eyes, waving his hand at him. “Continue on with your story, Stiles. What did you learn from the witches?” 

“Well, they were really shocked I didn’t have a familiar, which I guess is weird?” 

Peter nods. “It _is_ rather odd for a witch not to have one. A familiar is both an anchor and a way to funnel magic. They are extensions of the witch’s powers and a force all their own.” Stiles raises his eyebrows. Wow. He’s spent so much time dismissing Peter’s sass over the years (and being wary of his ulterior motives) that he’d kinda forgotten he’s actually very educated in the manners of all magical creatures, not just werewolves. 

\--

Over the next few weeks, Stiles settles back into the routine of home, the Pack, and starting up his online shop for charms. While he was traveling, he’d offered his magic in return for money to humans and supernatural alike. Now that he’s home, it’s time to have a regular income. 

What quickly becomes noticeable is the irritability of the werewolves. It’s not unusual that they roughhouse with each other or insult one another. But their words and tones are sharper, crueler than just jokes. The greatest change seems to be in Derek and Scott. Sure, Derek used to smack Stiles around in high school, because sixteen-year-old him could be massively irritating, but Stiles has noticed that the few times Derek’s shoved him in annoyance, he’s caused him to almost flying headfirst into things, leaving bruises as he never did before. 

He brings this up with Scott when they’re at his house in the basement playing video games. While it’s not a huge deal, he’s shocked that his friend is dismissive, excusing the brute force as Derek not paying attention.

Stiles blinks, giving him a _Look_. He even puts down his controller, forcing Scott to also stop playing. “Scott. Derek knows his strength. He’s not ‘accidentally’ leaving bruises on me. He’s doing this hard enough to hurt.” 

Scott growls shaking his head. “Well - then I dunno!” And Stiles recognizes him getting annoyed, but over what, he doesn’t get. So instead, he pushes instead of backing off, irritated himself at this blatant ignoring of a possible issue. 

“What do you mean you don’t know? Dude, Derek could seriously hurt me if he isn’t careful. To the point I’d have to go to the hospital.” Scott isn’t looking at him, obstinately keeping his eyes on the carpet in front of his feet, and that’s the last straw.

“ _Hello?_ ” Stiles shoves at Scott’s shoulder, only to be startled backwards at the full-throated growl, teeth and glowing eyes of a pissed Alpha. 

“I said I don’t know, Stiles! Leave me alone!” Scott shouts, before he’s heaving himself from the beanbag and marching across the basement, up the stairs, and to the front door. Stiles stays where he’s at. Clearly something is up with his friends, but what? And how long has this been going on for? 

For the next week, Stiles keeps a very close eye on the Pack, monitoring their moods. Derek and Scott seem to be the worst affected. Maybe because they’re the Alphas? But the others, Erica, Boyd, and Isaac, are also experiencing mood swings to the point of taking actual swings at each other. Peter isn’t exempt from all this either, although he doesn’t seem to be suffering quite as much. But even he has come close to shifting when the others verbally jab at him for too long. 

This is concerning. The only small grace is that there’s no annoyances in terms of unwanted supernatural creatures turning up in town.

Things finally come to a head when the Pack is sparring against each other. Practicing their attacks, dodges and stealth on one another. Stiles is camped out in a canvas folding chair, a bestiary resting on one thigh and a notebook laying on the other. He’s been writing down the changes in everyone and the tension it’s causing within the Pack. Stiles is staring at his notebook, jiggling his right foot at a fast pace, trying to figure out why Peter’s been less affected.

Maybe because he was brought back to life and his bond with the Pack is weakened? 

A scream scares the shit out of Stiles so badly a spell of protection bursts from his lips before he even considers what he’s doing. It only takes him another second to realize that it came from _Peter_ , who is now cradling a broken arm, half-shifted and snarling at Derek, whose arms and face have transformed. The rest are standing by, odd looks of anticipation on their faces, in no way intervening. 

Whoa, what the fuck is going on? As far as he’s ever seen, they’ve never gone to the point of broken bones. Bruised bones, sure. But never even fractured, or at least they never told Stiles. Regardless, this is way too far. 

“Derek, back off!” he shouts, flinging himself from his chair, the bestiary and notebook flying off. Derek turns on him with a snarl as Peter forces back the transformation enough to yell “Stay back, Stiles! Don’t get involved!” 

Too late. He’s always gonna get involved if any one of the Pack is hurt, including if that’s at one of their own hands. 

What disturbs him is that Derek does try to take a swing at him (and there’s no pulling his punches this time), but the protection spell has him bouncing backwards from his momentum being turned back on him. Stiles sprints to Peter, the necessary words pouring from his lips so that he’s protected as well. But when he tries to reach out for Peter, he pulls away hard, the broken arm still curled up against his chest. 

“It’s fine, Stiles.” It’s clear Peter is angry and...afraid? But of what? “Don’t put yourself in harm’s way for me.” 

Stiles frowns. “I don’t. But Derek broke your arm. We only hurt you like that when we had to kill you the first time. More than that, everyone’s been really strange.” 

Peter grits his teeth as he straightens out his arm. The bile rises in Stiles’ throat to see the damage done. “It’ll be fine, Stiles. Go back to reading and take the spell off me.” With great reluctance, Stiles does the first and just modifies the second. The werewolves can slash at each other all they want; no more open wounds or broken bones today. 

\--

Stuck on who to talk to about this incident and the mounting evidence that something is _wrong_ , there’s only one person left he can truly talk to seeing as Scott, Derek, and Peter are out. Deaton’s dead and there’s no way in hell Stiles will let Allison’s dad know that things aren’t okay with the Pack. So, finally, out of frustration and a lack of anyone else, Stiles turns to Dad. 

He goes for casual by mentioning that he misses their movie nights together and maybe they should have another one, just the two of them? “Not that I don’t want Melissa here! It’s just...we haven’t had any of our _talks_ for awhile, you know?” Stiles gently leads, hoping that Dad will get the message that he means supernatural stuff. 

Dad looks up from his breakfast and the newspaper he’s reading beside his plate. 

“Is this an ‘I found a boyfriend’ talk or ‘My friend group is having particular problems’ talk?” he asks hesitantly. The laugh unexpectedly catches Stiles. If only it was that. 

A shake of the head. “The second one.” 

“Okay, I’ll let Melissa know we’re having a night in, and I think she’s working third shift right now so it won’t be an issue.” A relief amidst all of this craziness. 

Hours later, they’re still circling on why everyone in the Pack is acting so odd. What could have caused it. What or who started this change. They do at least have a timeline of the behavior. Currently, they’re sprawled out in the living room with homemade pizza (courtesy of Stiles, who misses the ease of baking and cooking at home) struggling to unknot this problem.

“They definitely weren’t like this before I left. I mean, they still bickered, all the usual stuff. But what does this change mean? I’ve noticed my magic is closer to the surface here but...I dunno if that has anything to do with what’s going on.” Stiles worries his bottom lip between his teeth. Right now he really, _really_ wishes Deaton were still alive to help. 

“Maybe your magic senses something’s up? Like premonitions of events to come.” God, if that’s the case, Stiles really fucking wishes his magic would just point blank tell him what’s going to happen. At this point, he’s scared that his friends are going to seriously maim or kill one another. 

\--

However, there seems to be credence to Dad’s wild guess, because the next time Stiles is with the whole group of werewolves, it’s at the Preserve, where he feels the magic beneath his skin ramping up. Could some creature be in the area? Stiles looks around, but sees nothing, nor is anyone else bothered. 

A thrill runs through him. Maybe he’s close to his familiar? In being so concerned about the mental health and physical welfare of his friends, Stiles had put aside all thought of finding his familiar. He peeks at Scott, who’s walking beside him holding Allison’s hand. Well....if he had to make an educated guess on who it might be...

“Hey Scott, hold out your hand,” Stiles demands. This earns him a confused look and a “Why?”, although nonetheless, Scott offers his left hand, palm down. Stiles shushes him, grasping his hand and focusing on the magic that’s always just beneath his skin nowadays. But there’s no change, no surge when he touches Scott. So he’s not Stiles’ familiar. Disappointed relief runs through him.

“What was that for?” Scott asks, taking back his hand. An ache burns in Stiles’ chest. It’s been so long since they’ve been casually affectionate that Scott has to ask why the sudden touch. But then again, ever since the love of his life Allison entered the picture, there’s never really been any room in Scott’s life for love from anyone but her and his mom. Allison’s his anchor and Mrs. McCall the nurturer who has Scott’s back no matter what. One of the two people he’d never turn away from.

“Nothing,” Stiles shrugs, playing it off. “I was just seeing if I could turn us both invisible. But I think the spell’s a dud. Two ginger twins taught it to me. Guess I should have known.” He fakes a chuckle at the made-up memory. What’s concerning is that no one calls him out on the blatant lie (although he doesn’t see Peter’s intense gaze as he’s trailing behind the group), all too absorbed in their own thoughts. 

\--

The next time violence erupts, Stiles understands that there can be no more digging around for answers. He needs to do something helpful _now_.

A month down the road, on what seems to be a normal day, Stiles arrives at the Hale house (fully restored now) to find his gut twisting with abrupt unease. What it is, he can’t say from looking at the outside. Quick enough though, when he walks through the door it reveals a fervor of violence. The furniture is ripped apart and smashed, blood on the walls and floor. A bloodcurdling scream has ice needles stabbing through him.

The basement.

Off he goes, sprinting to the basement door, which is nearly torn off its hinges, almost falling down the stairs in his haste. A spell of protection is cast as he reaches the bottom step. What greets him is terrifying. Like monsters out of a horror movie, all the werewolves are mid-transformation, while Allison and Peter are pinned in the corner. They’re bloodied, snarling, and pacing in front of the wobbly line of mountain ash hemming in the only two not out of their minds. She’s armed with a knife, Peter with his claws, but those won’t keep them safe against five berserk wolves if they try and escape. 

“What the hell is wrong with you guys? Scott! You’re attacking Allison!” Stiles shouts. But it seems all sense is gone, for now five werewolves are growling and baring their teeth at _him_. Boyd barrels towards him - a truly terrifying sight - but words of power, sleep, and binding lay the powerful young man out on the floor. In fact, everyone in the room, Allison and Peter included, collapses to the ground (albeit much slower, so no one cracks their skulls open on the carpet), knocked out cold. There’s nothing less he wants to do than fight his friends, but in the state they’re in, five against one, even with his magic, Stiles wouldn’t be able to fend them all off at once. Instead, he’ll deal with them while they’re asleep. 

By the time they wake up two hours later (human again), Stiles has managed to move Allison upstairs to a recliner, thanking god she’s light as a feather, encircling her and Peter both within mountain ash again. Just in case. 

“Wha’ happened?” Erica’s the first to wake up, sitting up and rubbing at her eyes. Derek, Scott, Isaac, Boyd, and Peter aren’t far behind. He sees the confusion on Peter’s face at being the only one trapped within the mountain ash circle. 

Stiles himself is sitting in a beanbag, his right leg bouncing with impatience. He’s got his notebook (that he grabbed from his Jeep) recording what had happened. 

No more mincing words. “You guys tried to kill Allison and Peter when I showed up. It was Allison having mountain ash with her that saved their lives.” The group stares at him in shock and horror. Scott looks like he might throw up.

“Where is she, Stiles? _Where is she?_ ” Scott begs, a growl deepening at the end of his sentence, his eyes flaring that bloody red even as he’s on his feet. Good thing Stiles blocked the stairway with an invisible repelling wall. Everyone will heed what he has to say now guaranteed. There’s no more brushing off his warnings. He’s not a sixteen-year-old boy who doesn’t know his own power in a precarious position at the edge of the Pack. 

“Allison’s okay. She’s upstairs in the recliner, still asleep in a circle of mountain ash. I didn’t want you guys trying to kill her again. Peter, you’re still in the circle because that way you can’t run off. Listen. You guys went berserk and I’m not sure why, but this is not okay. You tried to kill one of your packmates. That’s not even a little bit concerning? I dunno what it is, but since I’ve come home, everyone’s been acting really weird. We need to get to the bottom of this, no more putting me off.” 

And it seems finally, _finally_ , his words are penetrating the thick fog surrounding his friends. That this most recent episode of violent rage is, in fact, a very serious event. 

“What do you want us to do?” Derek asks. Thank Jesus they’re listening now.

“First off, Peter is coming to stay with me. He seems to be getting the brunt, not that he helps himself.” Stiles sends a squint-eyed look at Peter, who just raises his eyebrows. “While everyone else stays away from each other. You seem worse when you’re all together. Research what you can. Peter will help me,” Stiles orders. It’s good to be making progress towards understanding what’s going on. Then they’ll worry about the solution afterwards. 

A pleasant surprise when everyone nods. He looks to Peter, ready for a snide remark, to find there is none. Peter’s simply watching him from where he’s seated, expression unreadable.

\--

It says something about Dad’s new fortitude towards supernatural events when Stiles comes home with Peter at his heels, two duffel bags of clothes and personal entertainment. He simply waves hello and goes back to the TV. They’ll discuss matters later, but right now, Dad’s got his favorite program on. Admittedly, it feels odd to have Peter staying in Stiles’ room, sleeping on an air mattress. Ever since he brushed him off when Derek broke his arm, Stiles has not tried to get close to him. He’d taken a step back from everyone to try and get a better picture of things. 

Neither of them talks as Stiles cleans up his clutter to let Peter get settled.

“If you don’t mind Stiles, I’m going to take a nap,” Peter says. Stiles gives him a thumbs up and exits his room. After nearly dying in the basement of the Hale house once again, he can understand why Peter would be exhausted. 

No surprise then that Dad’s downstairs waiting for him in the kitchen. 

“Is it safe for Peter to be here?” Translation: _are we going to be safe with him here?_. Stiles nods.

“We’ll be fine. I’ve warded the house and put mountain ash on all the windowsills and doors leading outside besides the front door. I think everyone’s finally getting that this is super serious. Also, I don’t think the Pack is as dangerous if they’re not together.” 

Dad lets out the breath he’s been holding before offering him a hug. Stiles happily bearhugs him in response, sagging into the comfort of his arms. 

“Let me know if there’s any way this old human can help.” Despite his best straight face, he giggles. Dad is the best help no matter what. 

Safe to say that in all this chaos and stress, the full moon arriving that night completely slips Stiles’ mind. What luck that a couple days ago he’d put the mountain ash around the house. He’s only just collapsed into bed when a startled yelp scares him upright.

“Peter? The hell?” Stiles hisses, scrubbing at his sandpaper-feeling eyelids. Right now he just wants some deep sleep after this shitshow. Clearly he’s grown too used to being away from Beacon Hills.

“Go to sleep,” Peter retorts, his voice hoarse - and uh-oh. That tone is familiar to him. It’s how Scott speaks when he’s transforming. 

Stiles flings off his covers. “No, No! You’re shifting and - shit, is it the full moon?” Peter darts towards the door, realizing the window isn’t an option, but Stiles launches himself from his bed, ready for the escape attempt. Goddamn it, he just wants to sleep! 

He crashes against Peter, managing to grab him around the waist, and Peter tumbles against the wall of his bedroom, raking his claws against the door as he tries to grab for the doorknob. Stiles grabs his hand (half-changed into a paw), ready to cuss him out for making so much noise, but he can only gasp as his magic surges, lighting up his skin in an effort to quell the overwhelming reservoir flooding through his body. What has him awestruck is the fact that Peter, his skin glowing for only moments, has completely reverted back to human. As if the full moon wasn’t out and he wasn’t midway through transformation.

“You’re my familiar!” 

Peter shrugs Stiles off of his back before turning to sit against the wall, his expression resigned. As for Stiles, he doesn’t bother to move away.

“Yes, I’m your familiar. Disappointed it’s not Scott, I expect?” 

“No. But only because I already tried to see if Scott was my familiar first. But if you knew, why didn’t you tell me? Why did you hide this?”

Peter scoffs, rolling his eyes, a little more his normal self than he’s been in the weeks since Stiles has been home. A relief to see that the world hasn’t completely turned on its head. 

“I’ve known I was your familiar since your spark came to light -,”

“What?!” 

Peter raises his hand for silence. Stiles can barely contain himself from saying more. 

“There’s always been this...magnetic pull towards you. I know you’ve felt it too, ever since we met, but, well, for obvious reasons, I wasn’t your favorite person. When I offered you the bite at sixteen, I had no idea you’d be the new emissary after Deaton’s death. However, it was clear you had potential and there was possible greatness to be had in melding magic with being a werewolf.” 

Stiles has already worked ahead. He stares at Peter with shocked eyes.

“You offered it to me on my wrist, but everyone else was forcibly bitten on their sides.”

A smile touches Peter’s lips. Pleased that Stiles is fitting the puzzle pieces together so quickly now that he’s been given a nudge in the right direction.

“As an equal, as a mate, but never a subordinate.” 

He’s on his feet in an instant, offering his hand to Peter, who raises his eyebrows. 

“Come on, we need to round everyone up. If I stopped your transformation, then I can help everyone else too. I know what needs to be done to help the Pack.” 

\--

“Are you going to clue me in on what we’re doing on the Preserve and why we need the Pack? I thought you wanted everyone to stay away from each other,” Peter asks, for once in his life not being a snide asshole about Stiles’ plan or the fact they’re still holding hands.

Stiles hasn’t let go of his hand since he helped him up from the bedroom floor. Not that Peter’s complaining. How can he when they’re both sharing this thrumming energy in their veins? The intimacy of being linked so close together which subverts conscious understanding so that Stiles can’t even contemplate the thought of being without Peter ever again.

“I know, I know. But that’s _before_ I completely stopped your transformation by touching you and finding out you’re my familiar.” 

Peter doesn’t answer just blinks at him, like, “yes continue?” 

A huff. “That means I’m the new Druid to keep everyone tethered and sane. When Deaton died so suddenly, that responsibility was shifted to the next magical creature who had the ability to uphold the balance. Me. But I didn’t know it at the time. I didn’t have enough power or knowledge to keep everything on an even keel. So that’s why we constantly got pelted with bad guys. They sensed somehow that Beacon Hills was weak, that the Druid here wasn’t able to do their job.” Stiles stumbles on some loose rocks, although Peter easily keeps him upright and on his feet. If only he had the power to see in the dark like werewolves.

“And we need the Pack because....?”

“Because I need to bind you guys to me. I’m the anchor for everyone, but you, as my familiar, are my anchor. It’s why the Nogitsune managed to possess me so easily. Nogi got ahold of my power, of my terrors, and without my familiar, my anchor, I could barely fight him off. It took everyone to help bring me back. I was being completely lost to him.” 

Peter stops walking so abruptly Stiles almost trips over his own feet this time. Stiles turns to give him a side eye, because what the hell, dude, only to be squeezed in the most sincere hug. It happens so fast that by the time he starts to react, Peter’s stepped back again. 

“Never again will I let that happen to you. You are mine to protect now.” A growl in Peter’s throat, his eyes shining a brilliant hard blue in the darkness. Eerie and amazing. Stiles nods, squeezing his hand. They belong to one another. 

Just as he’d hoped, by the time they make it to the Nemeton, he can sense the Pack closing ranks around them. There was no real hope of keeping them away from each other. Right now, he’s glad for it. He steps up onto the Nemeton and can barely contain the urge to scream, to howl at the moon for the power that’s near to bursting inside of his skin. 

“Make a circle around me. Hold hands.”

Derek, Isaac, Scott, Erica, Boyd, and Peter grasp hands standing on the edge of the stump, enclosing Stiles in the middle. The words flow without thought from his mouth. 

“I am your anchor! Your balance, your Pack. I am the Druid who keeps the balance here. Go!” Stiles yells, allowing the magic to arc from his body to theirs. Howls and screams as they are bound to him, as the insanity of bloodthirst is cleansed from them. His knees buckle without warning, his muscles seizing up as he collapses. 

A blur of teeth, of eyes shining in the night, of fur, before his werewolves are racing into the night. _They are safe._

Only one wolf remains as he loses consciousness, body oversurged from the magic flooding through him for the binding. No harm will come to him tonight while lying on the Nemeton.

**Author's Note:**

> Chiyume is my co-author for the fact she helped me come up with the second half of the fic. Which of course I proceeded to change completely like you do. Haha it's all in jest as she really helped me to get unstuck. Please do give her Marvel (Stucky) work some love: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chiyume
> 
> Next as always and who I hope to never lose is my beta Zilia. In the face of the blight of commas she rescues my fics from four page long run on sentences. She also writes for Marvel! https://archiveofourown.org/users/zilia


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